


Misunderstanding and Misapprehension

by jonsastan (lilzipop)



Series: Jonsa Week [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark Are Not Related, Jon Snow and the Starks Are Not Related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21558556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilzipop/pseuds/jonsastan
Summary: Jon Snow stood as far away from the gaggle of giggling ladies without partners as he could without actually leaving the ballroom. He was desperately trying not to make eye contact with any of the young ladies.“Come on Snow, you have to dance with at least one lady tonight” Theon Greyjoy said, sidling up to him. “Your father will hear if you don’t.”- - - - - - -Jonsa Week - Day Seven: Bastards - Royalty - {Free Choice}
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Jonsa Week [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548010
Comments: 19
Kudos: 219
Collections: JonsaWeek2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day seven of Jonsa week and I used the prompt "Free Choice" to continue a prompt a got on Tumblr. The second chapter is technically the entry for Jonsa Week, but I think you need the first to understand the second and I hadn't posted the first on here, so here's two chapters!  
> Feel free to check out a graphic I made on my tumblr (jonsastan)!  
> Please forgive my mistakes, my work is unbeta'd.

Jon Snow stood as far away from the gaggle of giggling ladies without partners as he could without actually leaving the ballroom. He was desperately trying not to make eye contact with any of the young ladies. 

“Come on Snow, you have to dance with at least one lady tonight” Theon Greyjoy said, sidling up to him. “Your father will hear if you don’t.”

“Leave me be, Theon.” Jon hissed trying to press himself further into the wall. 

“There are plenty of pretty fine young ladies who would give their left ear to dance with the heir Summerhall.” 

_The bastard heir of Summerhall._

“I don’t want to dance.” 

“How are you not tempted by the fine forms-” Jon stopped paying attention as Theon waxed poetical about the various ladies around the room. “Look at her!” Theon elbowed Jon. “She’s almost an angel.” Jon followed Theon’s gaze, fully prepared to dismiss the lady in question when his breath caught in his throat. 

She was angelic. 

Her hair a delightful auburn piled up on her head with a few curls temptingly brushing her collarbone. Her eyes a dancing blue that she had matched with the ribbon around her slender waist. Her lips a gentle pink, with an enchanting smile. 

“She’s - She’s” Jon stammered, watching as she let out a delicate laugh and grasped the hands of one of her friends. 

“Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of Lord Eddard of Winterfell.” Theon informed him, that frustrating smile on his face. “She’s rather angelic in both temperament and beauty, but I was referring to her friend Jeyn-”

“She’s lovely.” Jon whispered.

~~~~~~~

Sansa laughed delicately as Jeyne explained the drama surrounding her dress.

“And my mother says to simply wear my- my- my-” Jeyne trailed off, looking just over Sansa’s shoulder. 

“Wear your?” Sansa prompted. 

“That is Jon Snow, Lord of Summerhall and son of Rhaegar Targaryen.” Jeyne stated, her eyes wide, her voice just audible above the music. Sansa frowned at the bastard surname of the north. 

“He’s said to be worth twenty thousand pounds a year.” Jeyne continued. “He’s standing with Theon Greyjoy and he’s staring at you.” 

Sansa glanced over her shoulder at the young man standing next to her brother’s friend.

Sansa took a sharp breathe. He looked Northern. His hair dark and curling, his eyes a deep grey but kind eyes, he had a chiselled jaw covered in a light bread that was common among men in the North. 

Their eyes met across the ballroom and Sansa quickly looked away, a blush warming her cheeks. 

_Oh goodness._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon began to move around the ballroom, slowly, to not attract attention. Usually, when with his brother and sister, he was almost invisible to people. Without them he felt exposed as if all eyes were turned to him, whispering about his father. 

He had to talk to her though. He had to hear her voice, see if Theon was right.

_Angelic in both temperament and beauty._

He felt her gaze flicker to him as he made his way around the room. Soon he was out of her line of sight. He could see her slender form facing away from him, the curve of her hip hinted at by the palest of blue muslin of her dress. 

“Maybe you should ask another lady to dance first?” Theon said, his hand coming down on Jon’s shoulder. “She’s the first lady you’ll dance with outside of your father’s estate, some might see that as an intention.” 

Jon shrugged off Theon’s grasp and moved toward Sansa Stark. 

“I want to dance with Miss Stark.” He hissed. 

“You’ll be declaring something.” Theon said, moving closer to Jon. “Miss Stark is like family to me and you can’t just -”

“I don’t want to dance with some silly, frivolous girl. I want to dance with Miss Stark.” Jon turned and faced Theon. “Will you make the introductions?” 

Theon sighed before nodding his head and moving toward Miss Stark. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa had watched as Jon Snow began to make his way around the ballroom toward her and Jeyne. He was slow in his movement toward her but purposeful. She lost sight of him as he neared her and felt a tingle of anticipation race down her spine. 

_Gods, please let him ask me to dance._ She pleaded silently. 

“Miss Stark is like family to me.” She caught the phrase spoken in the familiar tones of Theon Greyjoy, her brother’s closest friend. 

Then the deep tones of an unfamiliar voice spoke, the voice that must belong to Mr Snow, spoke but Sansa could only catch a few words.

“Some silly, frivolous girl. I want to dance with Miss Stark.”

Sansa’s jaw tighten at the words of this stranger. Words she’d heard utter about her by her sister, her father, her old beau Joffrey Baratheon. 

Before she had time to order her thoughts, her emotions, Theon was standing in front of her, the handsome, rude, stranger beside him. 

“Miss Stark, you look truly lovely this evening.” Theon greeted. 

“Thank you Mr Greyjoy.” Sansa curtsied as the gentlemen bowed. 

“Please, allow me to introduce my good friend, Mister Jon Snow of Summerhall.” Sansa extended her hand.

“Miss Stark.” Jon Snow said, gently grasping her hand and bowing over it, the same voice as the one that has called her silly and frivolous. “I was hoping to secure your hand for the next set?” 

“Oh.” Sansa said, her mind racing, trying to think of an excuse. “ I- I- well,” She glanced down and realised her hand was still grasped in his. She pulled it back to her. “I would be honoured.” 

Mr Snow, smiled a soft, charming smile. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miss Stark had excused herself and Jon stood, watching the dancing, anticipating a set like he never had before. 

She had been polite and seemed a little flustered that he had asked her to dance. Maybe she was unused to public dances. 

_She smelled of lavender and lemons_. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa sipped a glass of punch and looked around at the crowd. She saw her brother dancing with Wynafryd Manderly, and Theon chatting with Jeyne, but she could not see Jon Snow from her current position.

_Gods why could I not think of an excuse?_

She did not want to spend an entire set with another condescending Lordling who only cared about her pretty face and her dowry. 

Her blood cooled in her veins when she saw the pale blue eyes of Ramsay Bolton. She slowly moved away from him, trying not to catch the eye of the brutish man who fancied himself her suitor, when she bumped into Jeyne. 

“Can you believe the kind of people they allow into these public balls?” She said to Jeyne nodding her head toward Mr Bolton. 

“Oh my goodness!” Jeyne brought her hand to her mouth. “I can’t believe he even had the gall to come.” 

“After the rumours about his father, I can hardly believe he’d show himself in public.”

The sudden demise of Lord Bolton had been grist for the gossip mill of the North for the past few months. 

The music of the next set, the set she had promised to Mr Snow, began to play. 

“Excuse me Jeyne, I have promised this set to-” She turned and almost ran into the young man. “Oh.” 

The charming smile had disappeared off of Mr Snow’s face, but he held his hand out for her. 

“Miss Stark.” Her hand slipped into his and he led her to the dance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“The kind of people they allow into public balls.”_

Jon gritted his teeth as he followed the turns and moves of the dance, trying not to make eye contact with the beautiful and cruel young woman he was now forced to spend an entire set with. 

Her feet moved swiftly and with grace as she danced. Her face was set in a porcelain mask of neutral emotions. 

_If she was so disgusted by me why accept my offer to dance?_

“Do you often come to public balls, Mr Snow?” She asked as the dance brought them together.

“No.” He replied. 

“That might explain why I haven’t met you before.”

“This is my first time in the North.” 

“Oh.” 

The dance pulled them from each other and Jon could not help but admire her elegant form, even if her conversation was trite and her words sharp. 

“How are you finding the cold of the North?” She asked as they came together. 

“Tolerable.” 

They moved in silence for a few moments before Miss Stark spoke again.

“Do you enjoy dancing?” 

“When one’s partner is agreeable, dancing can be enjoyable.” Miss Stark almost flinched at his words and he felt a stab of guilt. 

_“After the rumours about his father.”_

The guilt dissipated. 

“Do you talk to your dance partners by rule?” He asked.

“What is dancing if not a means to get to know ones partner?”

Jon was silent at that retort. 

“What kind of pursuits interest you?” She asked. Jon looked down and saw her blue eyes were hard and cold. _Why does she insist on talking when it brings her no pleasure?_

“Fencing, hunting, riding.” 

“Oh.” She looked taken aback for a moment. “There is wonderful hunting on my father’s estate. I’m sure Theon and yourself shall be invited to join my father and brother for a hunt soon.” Jon merely nodded his acknowledgement. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What kind of pursuits interest you?” Sansa asked, expecting him to reel off a list of intellectual and cerebral activities. 

“Fencing, hunting, riding.”

“Oh.” _So he may be frivolous but women must of course develop their minds._ She made a comment about the hunting at Winterfell and the invitation that would inevitably be offered. 

After what seemed an age the set was finally over. Sansa curstied as Mr Snow bowed. She had expected him to merely leave her on the dance floor, but he offered her his arm and she gently placed her hand on his coat sleeve. She hated the small shiver that travelled up her spine at this touch. 

He guided her across to where Jeyne and Theon stood, conversing. Bowing again he spoke.

“Thank you for your company Miss Stark.” 

She curtsied.

“And yours, Mr Snow.” Theon smiled at her before escorting Mr Snow away.

“So how was dancing with the heir to Summerhall?” 

“Tolerable.” Sansa replied, her voice deepening into a mocking tone of the young man. Jeyne giggled. 

“Oh come now Sansa. He maybe a little brooding, but even you must admit he had handsome and well situated. I doubt even you, Miss Sansa Stark, would refuse to dance with him again.”

“I believe I can safely promise you, Miss Jeyne Poole, to never dance with Mr Snow again.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is technically my entry for Jonsa Week, Enjoy!

Jon Snow tugged at his coat as he stepped out of the carriage. It was a cool day, but his valet had dressed him well. Footmen seemed to appear from the stone work to begin the unpacking of Jon’s bags and Lord and Lady Stark drew forward to greet him.

“Mr Snow.” Lord Stark, bowed slightly, one hand gripping a cane the other tucked to his body with his wife’s hand resting in the crook of his elbow. 

“We’re so glad you could stay.” Lady Stark smiled, and Jon returned the courtesies with grace, bowing and smiling and trying to avoid the eyes of Lady Stark’s.

 _So much like her daughter’s_ He thought, and unbidden, images of the beautiful and haughty woman he’d danced with a week ago came into his mind. Her pale skin and vibrant hair and eyes that saw all of him and found him wanting. 

And, as if his thoughts had summoned her, she appeared before him, lowering her gaze and bobbing and graceful courtesy.

“Lord Snow, I hope your journey was pleasant.” Her voice was soft and her gaze demure, as if he could forget the sharp taste of her tongue

_After the rumours about his father._

“Miss Stark,” Jon bowed slightly. “It was not long, and thus enjoyable.” He knew his tone was clipped and barely polite, but Miss Stark seemed not to notice for her mouth merely twitched into a smile before she turned to return to the house as the rest of her siblings were introduced. Jon watched her walk away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“What are you doing?” Arya asked. 

Sansa suppressed a sigh. If only the family and Theon were present she would have sighed aloud, but with the judgemental and proud ‘Jon Snow, heir of Dragonstone’ present Sansa was determined to be the definition of a lady, in both manner and accomplishment.

“Reading.” She answered not taking her eye from the book, but angling it to catch the candlelight better. 

“I can see that.” Arya replied. “I was rather asking if you were invested in reading or if you could be persuaded to do something else?” 

Sansa dropped her, admittedly dull tome of sermons, to the table and turned to Arya. As children they had often clashed and fought, Sansa’s sensitive and feminine nature incompatible with Arya’s honest and daring one. But as they grew older and more patient they grew closer.

“What can I do to please you, lovely one?” Sansa asked. She watched Arya roll her eyes at the expression but smile all the same.

‘Sing for us?” Sansa felt her cheeks warm and she glanced about the room. Her father was talking quietly with Mr Snow, whilst Theon and Robb discussed the hunt they were to enjoy on the morrow. 

“I would not wish to disturb the company.”

“They’ll love it, won't they Mama?” Arya turned to their mother who had been quietly embroidering a cushion by candlelight.

“What will whom love, Arya?”

“Everyone would love to hear Sansa sing and play.”

“Oh yes, Sansa!” Robb exclaimed. “Please do. It’s been too long since you’ve performed for us.” He grinned at her, genuinely pleased to hear her play. 

“I-” Sansa began, her eyes flicking to the moody grey ones of Mr Snow. “I do not wish to-”

“I would like to hear you play.” Mr Snow said in a quiet voice. Sansa was taken aback by this soft declaration, before concluding he merely needed more ammunition to effectively mock her. 

_Well,_ She thought, moving to the pianoforte he father had gifted her for her sixteenth birthday, _Let him remain wanting._

“Just play?” She asked, not bothering to look through the music sheets. 

“Sing too!” Robb cried.

“Something sweet.” Her father requested, that soft proud smile she craved on his lips. 

And so Sansa’s fingers danced across the keys and her voice rose in the familiar tale of Jenny of Oldstones.

“And she never wanted to leave.” Sansa smiled to herself as she finished her song, laying her hands in her lap as her tutor had taught her.

There was a soft applause and Sansa noticed her mother dab at her eyes and Sansa grinned at the compliment. 

“Another!” Arya cried. “Something ridiculously complicated!”

“No-”

“Come on! What about that new piece from Braavos?” Arya moved to the piano before positioning the sheet music before Sansa. 

“Well, you shall have to turn the pages for me.”

“You know full well I never learned to read music.” Arya replied with an unmistakable tone of pride in her voice. Sansa wanted to scold her and roll her eyes and hug Arya all at once. 

“Robb?” She asked. 

“I’m about as musically literate as Theon.” The young men laughed. 

“I can turn the pages for you, Miss Stark.” Mr Snow said, rising from his place next to her father and moving to the bench next to her. He sat and his eyes scanned the piece Arya had chosen. “It’s a complex piece, Miss Stark. Particularly this movement.” He said, his finger moving to point at the page. 

“Worry not, Mr Snow, I have not been silly or frivolous in my musical studies.” Without pausing to see the effect of his own words thrown back it him, Sansa began to play.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

_Silly._

Jon continued to walk without paying a great deal of attention as to where he was going, following a trail through the forest.

 _Frivolous_.

He remembered saying the words, but not to her, not even about her. They were about anyone but her! She had been…

 _An angel._ Jon felt his mouth twitch into a half smile in memory of the flush of her cheeks when he’d been introduced to her. _So beautiful_. Jon frowned then, remembering her hesitation when he had asked her to dance with him. _Did she think I spoke to her in such a manner? Called her silly or frivolous?_

“Mr Snow! Watch out!” His head snapped up and he saw her, Miss Stark, in a gully below him. Perhaps she had called out too late, or his eyes were to slow, but soon his foot had missed the a step and his ankle rolled and he was sliding down the incline, only to stop at Miss Stark’s feet. 

“Oh Mr Snow!” She knelt next to him and Jon could feel his cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and her presence. “I’m sorry, I should have noticed sooner.” She was pulling a leather glove from her hand and soon pressed her fingers to his hairline. 

He hissed from pain and saw her fingers came away bloody. 

“We’ll need a Maester.” She said, rummaging through her reticule to pull out a pure white handkerchief. Without waiting for him to speak she pressed the fabric to his head, causing him to flinch. “It won't need stitches, though.” She added with an encouraging smile to him. He smiled back.

“You’re remarkably clever, Miss Stark.” The words had left his lips before he realised he’d spoken them and both sets of cheeks blushed at the words. 

“Perhaps you hit your head harder than I thought.” She muttered. Jon’s eyes were still trained on her as she carefully peeled the handkerchief back from his head. “We should get you back to the house. Can you walk, sir?” 

Jon took in his state, quickly before answering. He might have a few bruises and small cuts, but other than the bleeding from his head and the throbbing of his ankle he was fine. 

“Aye. I should be able. Although it’ll be slow going.” He stood and Miss Stark stood with him. She offered her elbow as support and Jon took it. 

“You should apply pressure as we walk, Mr Snow.” She said, indicating the handkerchief she was still pressing to his head. 

As his hand moved to press the cloth to his wound, their fingers brushed and Jon’s traitor of a heart beat a little faster. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“If he calls upon this house once more-!” Robb almost growled his unfinished threat as he entered the sitting room the younger members of the household occupied. Jon looked up from the newspaper he was reading. 

Sansa was sat near a window, reading the newspaper her father had handed to her when he was done, whilst Arya and Theon chatted quietly about plans for a picnic over the next few days.

“Who?” Sansa asked without looking up from her reading.

“That bloody Bolton!” Robb exclaimed, now pacing the length of the room.

“Robb!” Sansa exclaimed, her brother’s language causing her to drop her newspaper. “Language!” 

Robb paused in his pacing to look at her and rolled his eyes. “You sound like Mother when you say that.” He teased. Sansa’s eyes narrowed slightly, before she folded the newspaper and placed it on the table, giving Robb her full attention. 

“Why did Lord Bolton call?” She asked.

“To see you. He _still_ thinks he has a shot at courting you despite Father’s denial.” 

“I thought as much.” She said with a sigh. “He was at the ball last week, do you remember?” She asked. 

“I remember you doing everything you could to avoid him!” Arya chimed in, a look of pride on her face at her sister’s bending of the rules of etiquette. 

“You can hardly blame me!” Sansa exclaimed, picking up her newspaper again and finding the article she had been reading. “The kind of people they allow into public balls.” She muttered almost appearing to lose interest in the conversation. 

Jon froze. His eyes still locked on the paper.

“He has some gall.” Robb spat, practically throwing himself into the chair next to Theon. “After what he did to his father-”

“It was never proven.” Sansa said, eyes still fixed on the newspaper as if she was only half paying attention. Her posture suggest otherwise. Jon noticed that since the name ‘Bolton’ was mentioned her muscles tighten, her back became stiff and her usually graceful movements were jilted. 

“Are you defending him?” Robb asked in disbelief 

“Hardly.” Sansa’s voice was dripping with disdain. “But that’s why he is still wandering free, it was never proven, the rumours about his father.” 

“What rumours?” Theon asked and Jon could have kissed him. 

“Ramsay wanted to be Lord of Dreadfort Manor, so he poisoned his father to take the title!” Arya explained sounding almost joyous at the horror of it all. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Jon’s head still ached despite getting a clean bill of health from the, surprisingly young and surprisingly rounded, Maester. 

As the music of the party swelled and the heat of the sitting room grew Jon slipped outside into the cool night air of the garden. He was enjoying the cold weather of the North more than he’d anticipated. It seemed to soothe him. It made him feel whole and light and free. 

“Oh.” The sound was little more than a squeak, but Jon turned and saw Miss Stark about to turn back to the door leading to the crowded and loud sitting room where the Stark’s were entertaining some local families. 

“Miss Stark?” He had felt uncomfortable in the presence of Miss Stark for some time now, but lately the type of uncomfortable had changed. From the kind of knowing he was disliked, to one of knowing he had offended and misunderstood her. 

“I’m sorry, Mr Snow. I did not mean to disturb your solitude.”

“You have not.” He moved slightly toward her. “In fact, your presence would be most welcome.” 

She hesitated for a moment, glancing about them.

“If you’re sure.” She moved toward and passed her, to the bower of roses with a pleasant little marble bench beneath it. The spot was dimly lit by the light from the house and full moon above them. Jon followed her, slowly. 

“Do you often seek a reprieve from gatherings, Miss Stark?” He asked for want of something to say. He yearned to speak openly and plainly with her. He ask he forgiveness for his cool manner and to explain the situation behind the words she must have heard, but he lacked the ability to talk of his feelings and thoughts, so asked an idle question instead. 

“No.” She replied shortly. Jon tried not to wince at her curt tone, remembering his own manner when they had danced and she had tried to make conversation. 

“You once asked me how I found the cold of the North.” He said, turning to her. She was sitting on the bench, the bare branches of the roses creating shadows across her countenance whilst the cool light of the moon and the warm light of the house played across her features. 

_Angelic in both beauty and temperament._

“I did.” Her voice was softer now, less hostile.

“My opinion has changed.”

“I fear my country if you have decided it is less than tolerable.” 

“Oh, quite the opposite.” He smiled softly as he spoke. “I find it rather enchanting.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are my bread and butter! :)


End file.
